


The Road to Hell

by MidnightWolf



Series: Good Intentions [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bells, Bestiality, Cameras, Chastity Device, Dubious Consent, Gags, M/M, Mental Anguish, Misunderstandings, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Puppy Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Torture, Trolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightWolf/pseuds/MidnightWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We all know what's happening to Canada. I propose that we all step in, give him a hand and a place to live while his nation recovers. All in favor?”</p><p>America meant well, but everyone knows that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from the kink meme.
> 
> Just a warning, I will be playing with various kinks. I will attempt to give sufficient warnings for each new part, but please be careful.

_“We all know what's happening to Canada. I propose that we all step in, give him a hand and a place to live while his nation recovers. All in favor?”_  
  
Canada hadn't even been there at the meeting that had decided his fate, but America had told him about it. How all of the Nations are willing to send his country money and aid in exchange for just a bit of help around their personal homes. Canada doesn't like it, the contract is vague and the look in England's eyes as he presses the pen into trembling fingers is frightening, but he is falling apart.  
  
There is no other choice.  
  
So he signs his life away. His names scrawled out in shaky cursive, _Matthew Williams, Canada._  
  
America grins, patting him on the back so hard it hurts, spouting useless platitudes. You'll be fine. I'll come visit. You'll be back on your feet in no time.  
  
Canada doesn't really hear America, too busy gathering up his things as England taps his watch impatiently. Clothes, a stuffed bear he's had forever, his journal, his emergency bottle of syrup.  
  
It's not much, but it all goes into a small bag, swung over Canada's shoulder.  
  
“Say your goodbyes, pet,” England coos in a saccharine voice, holding Canada's wrist in a grip so tight that Canada bites back a whimper at the pain.  
  
“Take care of Nanuq, will you, Al?” Canada tries to keep his voice straight, not wanting America to see how scared he is. “Don't let him eat too much.”  
  
“I won't.” America pats Canada's shoulder. "Don't worry about a thing, Matt. Just get better fast."  
  
"Goodbye, Alfred." England makes excuses - a plane to catch, no time to waste - and drags Canada out of the room, down the stairs and into a car. America waves from the porch, a squirming Nanuq in his arms.  
  
Canada waves back, but his stomach turns as he holds his bruised wrist gingerly in his lap.


	2. England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Chastity belt, aphrodisiacs, non-con anal and oral, physical abuse, evil!England

Once they've boarded England's private plane, Canada tries to ask what England wants from him, only to have England press a syringe into his arm. The drug acts fast, leaving Canada unable to move and barely coherent as England strips away his clothes and slowly dresses him up like the colony he had once been, except as a colony he had never been forced to wear a chastity belt and plug beneath his dress..  
  
“My sweet little boy.” England kisses Canada, forcing his tongue into Canada's mouth and ignoring his protests. “All mine.”  
  
Canada tries to run that first day, after they arrive at England's house and the drugs have all but worn off, but he doesn't get far. England's dogs catch him, growling and snarling until England calls them off.  
  
The punishment is fifty lashes for each foot, and by the time it is done, Canada is sobbing and there is no skin left on his soles.  
  
“Hush, pet,” England whispers the soothing words as he massages ointment into the wounds, wrapping Canada's foot with soft linen. “I only punish you because I love you.”  
  
Then he pulls out the plug and fucks Canada into the bed, all the while offering words of comfort and love.   
  
The plug is replaced with the remnants of England's “love” still inside, and Canada is led down to dinner on his hands and knees. England insists that Canada sit on his lap and eat from his fingers, playing with Canada's nipples through the thin fabric of his dress as he does. The food tastes funny, but any attempt Canada makes to refuse is met with a sharp twist of his nipples.  
  
He can't fight.  
  
And he stops wanting to as the aphrodisiac in his food takes affect and he begins writhing and begging for England's touch. It hurts, he can't become erect with the chastity belt on, but England doesn't mind, kissing and touching him and fucking him over the table.  
  
The next day, Canada tries to find a phone to call America, to beg America to burn the contract and let him come home. No amount of money or aid is worth this.  
  
England catches him as he tries to remember the number, slamming the old-fashioned phone down and wrapping Canada's fingers together with tape to prevent any more incidents. “You think America doesn't know about this?” England asks as he fucks Canada's mouth. “You think he didn't know what he was signing you up for?”  
  
Canada moans in protest. America couldn't have known. America wouldn't do that to him.  
  
But as he chokes on semen, with a sharp warning preventing him from spitting it out, Canada can't help the flicker of insecurity. Does he really know America as well as he thinks he does?


	3. Norway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Gangbang troll rape (bestiality?)

The week passes quickly in a haze of lust and drugs and fear. On the final day, Canada is drugged again after England has thoroughly marked him, leaving cum on his face and hair and dress and everywhere imaginable, and then Norway leads him away, crawling on his hands and knees because his feet are still too tender to walk on.  
  
Norway helps Canada out of the belt and plug that have tormented him for the past week and into the tub, but lets him bathe alone with only an invitation to call if he needs help. Canada melts into the warm water as he sobs, finally able to come to grips with the fact that England had raped him and used him and nearly broken him. He cries until the water turns cold, and then he scrubs away every remnant of England's cruel affection along with a layer or two of skin.  
  
He can't get out of the tub on his own, his feet aching as he tries to stand, but Norway comes when he calls.  
  
Norway helps him out of the tub, replacing the bandages on his feet and offering the small bag that Canada hadn't seen once at England's house. Canada chokes on a sob as he pulls out his favorite red hoody, holding it to his face and drinking in the scent of home. He'd been so afraid that England had burned his things or thrown them out.  
  
“Thank you,” Canada whispers, his eyes shy and grateful. “Thank you so much.”  
  
Norway only shakes his head, an unreadable look in his eyes.  
  
When the sun sets, Canada realizes why Norway didn't want his thanks.   
  
He has promised his trolls a treat.  
  
Canada can almost see the beings in the moonlight as they pull him into the air, ripping away his clothes and pressing their fingers against his mouth and ass.   
  
“No, no, please,” he manages to shout, before he's choking on a giant, hairy troll penis. Norway just walks away, a furrowed brow the only sign of remorse.  
  
The trolls don't seem to care that Canada's body is fragile and human, fucking him two at a time while the rest pull at him, anxious for their turn. When the sun finally rises, Canada is left on the grass, barely conscious, bleeding and bruised inside and out. Were he a human, he would already be dead.  
  
Norway carries him inside and washes him of blood and semen and dirt, muttering words that heal even the deepest wounds with a soft glowing light. He feeds Canada soft foods from his hand, petting his hair and letting him rest on a warm bed.   
  
Nightfall brings the trolls back, even more vicious than before in their anticipation.


	4. Austria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Bell torture, weird!evil!Austria

Canada doesn't relax as Austria looks him over with a pointed frown, not daring to let his guard down until he knows for sure what will happen to him. Norway's healing has removed the pain and the wounds, but he can still feel the trolls inside of him. A constant reminder not to trust anyone.  
  
“Do you like music, Canada?” Austria asks.   
  
It's an innocent enough question, so Canada nods.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Within minutes, Canada is naked, kneeling beside Austria's piano with his hands in his lap.  
  
“Now,” Austria warns as he shakes a small bell on a clip. “I want you to hold as still as you possibly can. Every sound you make will earn you another bell, at least until I'm out of bells.” He smiles, like it's a joke, but Canada doesn't see it as the clip is attached to his outstretched tongue.  
  
He tries to keep his tongue from moving, to keep the bell from jangling, but he can't and another clip is quickly attached to his earlobe. Next is his other ear, then his nipples and the tender skin of his balls. The crook of his elbows and the flesh between his fingers.  
  
It's a different kind of torture than Canada had ever imagined, unable to hold still beneath the pinching pain and the constant sound of the bells. He can't even keep from drooling with the bell on his tongue keeping his mouth open.   
  
Austria shakes his head as he holds the last clip, passing it from one hand to the other. “I suppose I overestimated you,” he says with an air of disappointment. “Oh well. There's always tomorrow.”  
  
The final clip is placed at the very tip of Canada's penis, enough to rip a cry from his lips as he shudders and tries to pull away. The movement sets all the bells to jangling, hurting his ears as tears of pain fall from his eyes.  
  
Austria sets Canada to work at dusting the hall, leaving the room with a promise that if he does a good enough job he will be allowed a short reprieve from the bells before morning comes. He doesn't say what will happen if Canada removes them himself, but the look in his eyes is frightening enough that Canada doesn't dare.  
  
Canada tries to clean, he really does, but the pinching of the clips restricts his reach and the clips on his hands have him unable to hold the rag properly and even the smallest of movements sets off a jangling chorus of bells that burns his ears.   
  
That night, Canada doesn't sleep a wink with the sound of bells ringing in his ears.  
  
In the morning, Austria removes the bells, an even more painful experience than the original attachment as blood flows back to the various regions of his body. Aching and exhausted, Canada is allowed to use the bathroom and given a small breakfast of bread and sausage before Austria takes him back to the music hall to begin the whole process all over again.

**

_Canada doesn't know it, but Austria totally gets off on this sort of thing._


	5. North & South Italy I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Traumatized!Canada, Dark!Veneciano

Canada is nearly vibrating with nerves, fighting desperately not to fall asleep as Romano scowls at him. He hasn't slept more than a few moments all week and his ears still ring with the jangling of bells and Austria's disappointment.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
Cringing from Romano's anger, Canada's hope that Romano would allow him at least a few hours of undisturbed sleep begins to fade.  
  
“Seriously, are you stupid or something? I asked you a question.”  
  
“S-sorry.”  
  
Romano rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Whatever. I don't know how useful you can be if you can't even stand up straight. Just like America to make stupid promises.”  
  
“No!” Canada protests. “Please, I can do it!” He rises to his feet in a panic, he has to be useful or the bells will never stop. Unfortunately a lack of sleep and minimal food and water leave him dizzy and disoriented, and he collapses to the floor with fatigue.  
  
“Hey, bastard,” Romano actually sounds worried. “Hey! Don't scare me like that...”  
  
Canada stops listening as darkness takes him.   
  
He wakes in a warm bed, too tired to bring himself to get up as he yawns and stretches in the blissful silence, wondering idly where Nanuq has run off to.  
  
“You're awake!” Veneciano pops out of a bedside chair, startling Canada and bringing him back to reality.  
  
“How- how long?” Canada whispers.  
  
“You've been asleep for two days now,” Veneciano smiles. “Lovino was very worried. I think you scared him when you fainted like that.”  
  
Something in Veneciano's smile is sharp and menacing. Canada shrinks back against the bed instinctively, eyes wide.   
  
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-”  
  
“Yes,” Veneciano waves his words away. “I know. You're still recovering, but if you can't even bother to take care of yourself, after all that money we sent you....”  
  
Canada shivers, flinching away from the glint in hazel eyes. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes again. “I can be useful! I swear, just tell me what to do.”  
  
The menace vanishes as Veneciano closes his eyes. “Ve~ I've always wanted a puppy!”


	6. North & South Italy II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Puppy play, dubcon oral sex

“What the hell-” Romano starts when Veneciano leads Canada out into the kitchen on a short lead.  
  
“Do you like our new puppy, Lovi?” Veneciano strokes Canada's hair, patting the collar buckled snugly around his neck. “He's so sweet, isn't he? Isn't he?”   
  
Canada wiggles and makes a barking noise, desperate to prove his usefulness. He knows now that neither of the Italies are Austria, and they probably won't use the bells on him, but he can't help the tendril of fear that they'll do something else even worse if he doesn't make it worth their while to help him.  
  
And playing at being a puppy's not so bad, even if his hands ache inside the paw-gloves and the plug in his ass is too big – he doesn't dare think about why Veneciano just happened to have them laying around. At least he's still in control of himself. It's still his choice.  
  
“Feli,” Romano starts, “you can't just go making people pets!”  
  
“Don't be silly, Lovi,” Veneciano kneels to pet Canada's back, giggling when Canada turns to lick at his face. “It was Canada's idea.” Then he whispers to Canada, “Go make Lovi happy.”  
  
Canada doesn't really know how to do that, but he approaches Romano, eyes wide and tail wagging as best he can manage. He nuzzles against Romano's leg, barking happily.  
  
Romano's hand goes to cover the bulge in his pants, and Canada freezes, wondering if it's because of him.  
  
But Veneciano gives him a nudge, and then he's nosing at Romano's groin until Romano gives in and undoes his zipper.  
  
Canada sucks and licks and nuzzles until Romano cums in his mouth. It reminds him of England and the trolls, but Veneciano's gentle hand petting his back is enough to keep him from panicking.  
  
He's safe here, useful and almost content in a way he'd forgotten he was capable of as he swallows and licks Romano clean. No one will hurt him so long as he plays their game.  
  
Romano's face is bright red as he dishes three plates of pasta, barely hesitating a moment before placing Canada's plate on the floor underneath the table. “Don't make a mess,” he warns, warily running a hand through Canada's hair like he expects to be bitten. “Okay?”  
  
Canada barks happily, eagerly bending to eat from the plate while Veneciano sets down a bowl of water. He does make a mess, despite his best efforts, but Romano just scowls and makes Veneciano clean it up.  
  
At night, Canada is allowed to use the toilet after the Italies wash his face and brush his teeth. They pet him and praise him for being such a good dog and then take him to bed with them.   
  
Canada curls up beside Romano's pillow, licking Romano's cheek in gratitude as he closes his eyes.  
  
“Stupid mutt,” Romano growls half-heartedly, but he rubs Canada's side gently while Veneciano whispers gleefully from the other side of the bed, “That means he likes you.”


	7. Prussia & Hungary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-con, camera sex, dirty talk

Canada clings to the memory of his week with the Italies, to the bright freedom of just being a pup with loving owners, even the simple pleasure of knowing the rules, while Prussia ties him to a bed and fucks him with Hungary standing over the two of them with a camera. He wants to protest, but can't find the words. Not that it matters, they wouldn't stop anyway.  
  
“Are you sure this is okay?” Hungary whispers as the two take a break. Canada fakes unconsciousness, hoping to be left alone a little longer. “He looked like he was going to cry.”  
  
“Don't worry,” Prussia scoffs. “This is what happens to protectorates. It's like an unwritten rule or something, you know? Or a trade. We get a good fuck, they get help. If he didn't want it, he wouldn't have signed the contract.”  
  
“What if he didn't know?”  
  
“Hah! America wouldn't have let him sign if he didn't know. You know how protective that kid can be.”  
  
Canada chokes down his sobs, body shaking with horror. He hasn't thought about America in so long that to hear that his brother might have done this to him on purpose leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
It can't be true. It can't be.  
  
Unless America thinks he deserves this....  
  
Canada can hardly think for fear and shame, not caring that Hungary is gone when Prussia unties him, stuffing him with a vibrator and putting a ring over his cock before leading him to the kitchen.  
  
“I'm hungry, make something good,” Prussia orders as he sprawls out in a seat with his feet on the table, playing with the remote and making the vibrator go faster and slower until Canada is trembling and off balance and trying desperately to come up with something to make out of a loaf of moldy bread some sliced cheese and a few cans without labels.   
  
He ends up tearing off the mold and frying up the bread into grilled cheese sandwiches while some kind of soup heats in a pan – though it takes all his efforts to keep from burning it when Prussia racks up the dial as far as it will go.  
  
Canada can feel the pleasure jolting up his spine as he serves the meal and falls to his knees beside Prussia without thinking.   
  
The cock ring is the only thing keeping him from cumming, as much as the thought scares him. He hasn't had an erection since before England, before this whole horrible nightmare began, and he doesn't know how Prussia will react if he cums.  
  
Prussia doesn't remember the vibrator or the high setting it's still on until after he's finished eating and Canada's trembling with the effort it takes not to curl up on the floor and stroke himself off.  
  
"You are such a slut," Prussia laughs when Canada arches up into his touch. "Not that I'm complaining."  
  
Maybe he does deserve it.


	8. Prussia & Germany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bondage, toys, non/dub-con

The night before Germany comes home, near the end of the week, Prussia smirks evilly, digging through a neatly organized closet to find a box of toys.

“West thinks I don't know about this stuff,” he confides in Canada, kneeling at Prussia's feet as he has done since Prussia decided he liked seeing Canada in that position. “But we're going to give him a nice surprise, aren't we?”

Canada pales, but nods his head in silent agreement. Pretending he has some choice in the matter helps a little.

The gag is first – a strange metal contraption that pulls his mouth open from all angles – and Prussia smiles, petting Canada's tongue with a hungry look in his eyes. “I might just have to try you out first, make sure West will like it.”

He doesn't do it immediately, finishing dressing Canada up first.

A hood that covers Canada's eyes and ears, cutting off his senses. Nipple clamps weighed down so as to tug at Canada's nipples.

Prussia's hands are rough as he pulls a blind and deaf Canada up onto the bed, arranging his body in a kneeling position with his hands bound to the bedpost behind him and his legs spread, knees forced apart by a metal bar.

The final touch is a giant dildo shoved into his ass, big enough that the mattress holds it inside him no matter how he tries to escape it.

The hands leave, and for a brief moment Canada wonders if he's been left alone until Germany arrives.

He stops wondering when the mattress shifts beneath him, moving the dildo with it, and then he's choking on cock. Prussia fucks his face enthusiastically, not caring that Canada can't participate beyond the movement of his tongue. When he cums, Canada tries to swallow, but most of it drips down his chin. In the darkness he has to fight the images, sliding his tongue sharply across his teeth to keep from fading into the horrific memories.

A pat on the head seems to indicate that Prussia enjoyed himself, and then Canada is truly left alone,

He drifts for what seems like an eternity, trapped in the darkness, in the silence, with only the dildo as a a weighted reminder that he is nothing but a toy to be played with. A frightened toy, terrified that Germany will never return, but just a toy.

A touch that finally comes in the form of a calloused hand on his shoulder. It feels... concerned, but Canada just moans. There's no point in Germany being concerned for the fate of a useless protectorate.

Germany is gentle, far more gentle than Canada might have expected, stroking Canada's face as the bed shakes. Canada flinches at the fingers against his gaping lips, only to find his bonds being undone.

“Are you alright?” Germany asks, once Canada is free of the rope and the toys. He is obviously aroused, but his eyes are gentle and worried.

Barely able to comprehend the words, Canada nods and leans back, spreading his legs in the air, hiding a shudder as Germany follows him.

Germany takes him so slowly, so gently, that Canada can't help the silent tears that roll down his cheek. He hides them, turning his face and closing his eyes as he tries to pretend that this is his first time, the rule rather than the exception.


	9. Spain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-con, cruelty, mental and physical abuse, torture

“England told me about you.” The words and the intonation feel cold and cruel, as calloused fingers trace Canada's mouth in a mockery of gentleness.  
  
Canada shivers, kneeling on the floor with nothing but cold metal around his neck, but he sucks on the fingers when they push past his lips.   
  
This is a Spain he has never seen before, a cheerful smile twisted into a sadistic grin.  
  
“Let's see if you are as well-trained as you look.” Spain holds up the worn bag that Canada has dragged along with him from house to house, and for a moment it seems as though he's going to hand it over. Then he lights a match, holding it to the cloth and throws the bag down in front of Canada with a crash of breaking glass as it goes up in flames.  
  
“No!” The bag contains the only possessions he has in this horrible new life, the only reminders that he was once more than just a toy, and Canada lunges to put the flames out without a second thought. His hands burn, but he continues trying until Spain pulls the choke chain taut, cutting off his air and dragging him away from the fire.  
  
As much as he wants to, Canada doesn't cry, he can't cry, clutching his burnt hands close and watching with empty eyes as his things dissolve into ash, filling the air with maple-scented smoke. When the flames die out, Spain takes him so painfully against the stone floor, rubbing his face in the ashes as a reminder of his place.  
  
“Just a slave, little bird,” Spain hisses in his ear. “That's all you are now.”  
  
The malicious words sting, but it's nothing Canada doesn't already know.  
  
He is just a thing to be used, no matter how much he wishes otherwise. Just a slave.  
  
And Spain uses his week to make sure Canada doesn't forget it, calling him a whore and a slut and a worthless waste of flesh, all the while ensuring that Canada knows just what those names mean for him.  
  
They mean going hungry unless Spain thinks he deserves the scraps from the trash.  
  
They mean being fucked against the wall and the floor and the table and thanking Spain for touching him.  
  
They mean sleeping on the stone floor at the foot of Spain's bed, with the chain around his neck pulled so tight he doesn't dare move for fear of suffocating.  
  
They mean pleading for permission to piss, only to be punished when Spain refuses to grant it in time.  
  
But most of all, they mean that when Spain ties him down at the end of the week, filthy and bleeding and terrified, and waves the white-hot branding iron in his face, Canada begs Spain to mark him, knowing that it will only hurt more to do anything else.


	10. Russia

Russia is one of the stranger Nations, staring at Canada with his head cocked like a curious dog. It's enough to make Canada nervous, fighting the urge to fidget as he kneels with his head down. Spain had been so very glad to find that Russia was next in line, detailing all the ways he could think of that Russia would punish a stubborn slave as he hosed Canada down . It makes Canada wonder just how long he'll survive if Russia is truly so much worse than Spain.  
  
“Why do you do that, Kanada?”  
  
The question startles Canada, almost enough to make him look up. No one has used his name in so long. A hand goes to his throat, wondering what Russia will do to him if he fails to answer the question. Drawing in a deep breath, Canada's voice is hardly more than a whisper. “Have I done something wrong, Master?”  
  
“I do not know.” Russia pauses, making a questioning sound before asking, “Why do you call me that?  
  
Because to do otherwise is disrespectful, because Spain had beaten it into his head, because he's forgotten what it's like to be the master of his own life... Canada doesn't know what to say, bowing deeper as he tenses for pain. It never comes.  
  
“Someone has hurt you.” It's not a question.  
  
The scars are faint save for the brand, but Canada can't help but cringe as the memories surface. Every touch, every wound, every violation is etched into his mind, from the first to the last. A bloody mural of how useless he is, how worthless he is.  
  
Without warning, Russia pulls Canada up into his arms, holding him so gently. His hands are warm, not hurtful or groping, but Canada knows better than to think it will stay that way. “I have always enjoyed watching you, little Kanada, so bright like the Northern lights. I do not like to see you hurting.”  
  
“I deserved it.” Canada dares to whisper, wanting Russia to understand.   
  
“No one deserves that.” Russia's fingers linger above the brand, the label _whore_ engraved into Canada's inner thigh.  
  
All week Canada is reminded of life before the contract, before he had been ruined. Russia is gentle and kind, giving Canada clothes and food, never demanding sex, not even allowing Canada's timid advances to get anywhere. He lets Canada curl up beside him on the big bed because otherwise Canada will sleep on the floor where he belongs, but even then Russia never does anything more than holding Canada.   
  
It's nice, but it won't last. It never does.   
  
The week will come to an end and Canada will be passed along to the next Nation like a used toy. Maybe they will be kind. More likely they won't care that he is scared and tired, they will use him because that is all he's good for.  
  
So Canada tries not to let himself become attached. He hides away inside of his head, useless and lonely and so very, very homesick, and tries to forget everything Russia reminds him off.  
  
It's almost a relief when Switzerland's hand closes tightly around his arm, pushing Canada towards the car with an suspicious gaze fixed on Russia, but Russia's sad eyes linger on him, leaving a hole in the pit of Canada's stomach at the thought that someone might actually believe he's worth caring for.


	11. Switzerland & Liechtenstein I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non/dub-con, traumatized,conditioned!Canada

Canada's not quite sure what to expect from Switzerland. He's rough and awkward, but he doesn't take away the clothes Russia had given Canada. He barely even touches Canada beyond pulling him along, giving Canada the spare room to sleep in. Canada can almost believe Switzerland wouldn't mind him using the bed, but he still curls up on the soft rug at night. Just because Russia turned out to be so much gentler than expected doesn't mean everyone else will be the same.  
  
At least here he has a rug.  
  
It's only the second day that Canada realizes what his use will be in Switzerland's household, as Switzerland steps out to do errands, ordering Canada to watch Liechtenstein. “If anyone comes to the door, use this.” Switzerland hands him a rifle from the gun rack. “You do know how, right?”  
  
Canada nods, speechless at the thought that Switzerland would so easily trust him with a weapon.  
  
The moment the door closes behind Switzerland, Liechtenstein is up, peeking through the curtains until Switzerland is out of sight. Then she grabs Canada by the hand, dragging him to her bedroom, the rifle abandoned beside the front door.  
  
“Do you know how rare it is for me to be alone with a man?” Liechtenstein giggles, sliding out of her dress. “Good thing Vash trusts you.”  
  
This is easier, more familiar. Even if some part of him knows that this can't be what Vash meant when he said to watch his sister.   
  
Still, Canada sheds his clothes without a second thought. This is what he is for, isn't it?  
  
He's not entirely sure how sex with a woman works beyond the general mechanics, but, thankfully, Liechtenstein seems to know what she's doing. She pulls him into a deep kiss, not minding his hesitant response. Then she pushes him onto the bed where she has him lay on his back as she strokes him to a full erection. With a bright smile, she lowers herself onto him, grasping his arms and coaxing him to stroke her breasts as she fucks herself on him.  
  
“See, it's easy, isn't it?”  
  
It doesn't take much to make Canada cum – he's more used to pain or being ignored entirely. To actually be touched, much less inside Liechtenstein is so pleasant that it's almost unbearable.  
  
She just laughs, shaking her head as she asks if Canada is willing to finish her off with his mouth.  
  
He nods.   
  
Canada doesn't know why Switzerland returns so quickly, only that he bursts into the room, worry turning to rage at the sight of Liechtenstein straddling Canada's face, neither of them wearing anything.  
  
Switzerland shouts – Canada doesn't hear the words, staring up at the ceiling while Liechtenstein tries to calm her brother down. When Switzerland finally drags Canada off the bed, Canada simply falls to his knees, bending his head to accept whatever punishment he has earned. Terror chills his veins, expecting the worst for touching Liechtenstein after Switzerland had been so kind.  
  
No punishment comes. Switzerland's shouting fades, as he crouches in front of Canada, lifting Canada's chin to see terrified resignation.   
  
“What did you do to him?” Switzerland asks, his voice low and disbelieving.  
  
“I don't know.” Liechtenstein's response is breathless, like she's about to start crying. “It was just sex.”


	12. Switzerland & Liechtenstein II

Canada doesn't understand why Switzerland doesn't punish him, instead sending Liechtenstein from the room before looking into his eyes so seriously.

“Why did you have sex with my sister?”

Canada stares at Switzerland, unsure of his answer. He doesn't know what to say, what Switzerland wants him to say.

His silence causes Switzerland to swallow deeply before asking a new question.

“Did you _want_ to have sex with my sister?”

A tiny shake of the head is all Canada allows himself, shrinking away against the bed in fear. It's what he's good for, what he deserves, he should be happy that Liechtenstein allowed him a chance to be useful, but he didn't want it. He has never wanted it. Never.

Not that anyone's ever asked him before.

“Then why did you do it?” It's obvious that Switzerland is trying not to be angry, his fists clenched so tight the knuckles are white.

The anger is such that Canada doesn't dare to stay silent, answering in a breath of a whisper. “It's all I'm good for.”

“ _Russia...._ ” Switzerland hisses the name like an obvious answer to a question Canada doesn't know, his eyes blazing.

He's not just angry, he's furious, and Canada squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for a blow. When he opens them, Switzerland is gone, the door slowly swinging shut behind him.

As Canada stares, utterly confused, Liechtenstein peeks her head in. She's dressed, cheeks blotchy and eyes red as she crouches down in front of him.

“If- If you didn't want it, why didn't you tell me to stop?”

“You wanted sex.” The word leaves a horrible taste in his mouth. “What I want...” Canada struggles to find the right words to voice the thoughts he tries to suppress. “... it doesn't matter.”

Liechtenstein's eyes are wide, her hand over her mouth as her cheeks go pale. She looks ill.

“Oh god.”

Canada is left alone as she races from the room.

He curls up defensively, letting his mind drift away into the patterns of the wood beneath him rather than dwell on what he no longer understands.


	13. Russia & Switzerland

“If you didn't do this, who did? Do you think America knows about it?”  
  
Clad in a pink nightshirt, Canada leans against Russia's legs, too nervous to climb up onto the couch even with Russia urging him on, as Switzerland paces the floor angrily.  
  
“His signature is on the contract as witness. Whether he is cruel or just stupid, I do not know.”  
  
“We'll wait and see, then. Should we go to England?”  
  
Gasping, Canada flinches away, opening his mouth to protest though no words escape. He's not supposed to disagree with them, but Switzerland sees his distress.  
  
“Did England do this to you?”  
  
Yes. No. Canada forces his voice to work. “He loved me,” is all that comes out, as he is trapped in the memories. “He said he loved me, but he hurt me. He wouldn't listen. Shouldn't have fought, but I was scared. I just wanted it to stop!” He knows now why England had been so harsh with him – a whore like him must have deserved it for all the trouble he had been – but it doesn't ease the pain of being hurt so viciously by a father figure when he didn't know better than to expect kindness.  
  
“Oh, Kanada. No,” Russia whispers,calming Canada's hysterics with a soft touch. “No, you did nothing wrong.”  
  
“England touched you?” Switzerland growls.  
  
Canada nods mutely into Russia's leg. The anger in Switzerland's voice is strangely soothing, once the initial jolt of fear fades.  
  
A part of Canada wonders if he's done.  
  
Maybe he can go home now.  
  
“Who else?” Switzerland's voice is low, a quiet promise. “Who else hurt you?”  
  
One by one, using Russia's warmth to ground him, Canada speaks of the nightmares. The bells, the Trolls, the careless cruelty, and how frightened he had been. How he learned to expect pain, even with Romano's care and Germany's gentleness. How Spain had so thoroughly stolen away what was left of his naive hopes.  
  
“I deserved it,” Canada mumbles, eyes pleading as he looks up at Switzerland, his fingers drifting without thought to the indent of the brand. “I deserved it.”  
  
Right?  
  
Russia disagrees, that much Canada knows, but surely Switzerland can see how useless he is, how much he deserves it. All those people can't have been wrong in treating him so callously. America can't have been wrong in having him sign away his life. He had to have done _something_!  
  
“No, Canada,” Switzerland's voice is tight, anger simmering beneath the surface. “There is nothing you could have done to deserve that.”  
  
Russia nods, saying something, but Canada isn't listening.  
  
He does deserve it, he _has_ to deserve it.  
  
But Switzerland has never been one to dance around the truth, and if he agrees with Russia...  
  
Canada wants to believe it, wants it to be true, but he can't. If he doesn't deserve this, than America is wrong, cruel in a way Canada can hardly imagine.  
  
“I want to talk to A- America.”


	14. America

“ _What's up, Switz?_ ”  
  
Canada holds the phone in his hand, suddenly terrified that America won't want to speak to him. That America won't want anything to do with him now.  
  
“ _Switz? Anyone there?_ ”  
  
“...Al?” Canada breaths into the phone, leaning into Russia for courage.   
  
“ _Mattie?_ ” America draws in a sharp breath. “ _What took you so long? I've been waiting to hear from you forever! I mean, I know you left your cell here, but seriously, how hard is it to find a phone in Europe? Anyway, how're ya doing? They're treating you alright, right? Because I don't want to have to come out there and beat some heads in, but I will if I have to. Mattie? You there, Matt?_ ”  
  
The phone is on the floor where Canada dropped it, his heart racing as he turns wide eyes up to Russia. America sounds so normal, like he thinks Canada's just out on an extra-long sleepover. It hurts, like a jet of cool air too sharp against the skin, Canada's eyes burning with the effort it takes not to burst into tears. America is still normal, he hasn't been touched by the pain or the fear like Canada has, and Canada is torn between wanting to hate him and wanting him to stay unmarred.  
  
“Ssh,” Russia slides down off the couch, wrapping his arms awkwardly around Canada's shoulders. “It will be alright.”  
  
“America.” Switzerland has the phone now, getting straight to the point as usual. “What do you know about the contract you witnessed?”  
  
“ _Contract? The one Mattie signed?_ ” America's voice is still audible from where Canada is, clearly confused. “ _What's going on, Switz? Put Matt back on._ ”  
  
“Canada can't talk right now. Answer the question.”  
  
“ _It was just an agreement. Mattie helps you out, you guys help him stabilize. I checked it out with Artie, he said it was all good. You happy? Put Matt back on._ ”   
  
America didn't know. Doesn't know.  
  
Relief drains Canada's energy, as he reaches up with trembling hands to take the phone back.  
  
“A-Al?” His voice is quiet, timid and uncertain, but he doesn't have to think about the words. “I want to come home now. Please, I want to come home.”  
  
He can't say anymore, letting Russia take the phone from his fingers as he sobs, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.   
  
He's useless and worthless, but maybe, maybe America won't mind. Maybe America won't agree that he deserves everything that has been done to him.  
  
Maybe he can be done now.


	15. America II

“Matt....”  
  
America is an imposing figure in the doorway, though his shoulders are slumped and his eyes are weary. It's all Canada can do to keep from dropping to his knees, but this is America, his brother. Alfred.  
  
He won't hurt Canada.   
  
He won't.  
  
With Russia and Switzerland at his back, Canada walks on shaky legs to the door, trying so hard to cling to the memory of once-normality. America knows what he's been through, what Canada had shared and Switzerland passed on, but he doesn't understand it. Not really. And Canada doesn't want him to understand.  
  
“Hey, Al.” Canada can't stop the tremor that has him pulling away instinctively when America reaches out his arms, but America is patient, letting Canada recover and move forward once more of his own volition. “S-sorry.”  
  
“I'd never hurt you, Matt,” America assures him so desperately, his face a picture of despair. “You know that, right? I never would have let you sign that damned contract if I'd known what would happen.”  
  
“I know.” Canada does know it, somewhere deep inside, even though the doubt flickers in his mind. He knows it, he just can't _believe_ it, not after all he's been through. “I just- I- I-” He doesn't know how to explain it, wrapping his arms tight around his chest and silently pleading with America for help. He has spent so long hating himself, wondering what he had done to make America hate him, that he's not quite sure what to do now.  
  
“It's okay, Matt,” America steps forward, moving so slowly. “It's okay.”  
  
Canada tenses, his reflexes no longer remember what it's like to not have to tense for pain, to not flinch from the slightest contact. Still, he ignores the terror that prickles down his spine as he leans against his brother, letting America's arms wrap around him as he buries his face in the crook of America's neck.   
  
America smells like warmth and protection. Like home.  
  
“You're safe now,” America whispers into his hair. “I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe.”  
  
Canada goes limp, relief draining his energy until all he can do is let America hold him. He doesn't speak, but America hears his need anyway, holding him so close, so tight that it's like there's nothing else in the world.  
  
“It's time for you to come home now, Matt.”


End file.
